


We're wrapped in light

by ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis (Original_Cypher)



Category: Bandom, Marianas Trench, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Ziam Winter Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 15:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3124913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/ApparentlyNotTooOldForThis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's last shift at work ends in another universe than it started in. And stays there.</p><p>for the Ziam Winter Fic Exchange</p><p>aka</p><p>AU.<br/>Notting Hill. Nice place for thrift shopping. The movie? Utter bull. I mean, you just don't *have* celebrities dropping in your lap like that. It just doesn't happen.<br/>You know. Except that one time when it does.</p><p>xx</p><p>This story includes Marianas Trench band members. If you know them, awesome. If you don't... it won't matter, and you can even check out the shitty 'cover art' I made to see what they look like for reference. If you feel like giving them a listen... Welcome to your new addiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're wrapped in light

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry this is so late. I had the story get away from me and becoming so long so this is just part 1. My computer decided to die on me and set me back on writing just before the Holidays. I now have a new machine and the rest is coming as soon as I'm satisfied with it.
> 
> I kind of let your prompt morph and become something else in my mind. I hope you like it.

 

xXXx

 

It's twenty to one in the morning, and Zayn has conflicted feelings. On the one hand, he is sweaty as fuck, his feet hurt, he's hungry and he's ready to go home like, yesterday. On the other hand, a part of him wants to linger. He wants to run his hands on the faulty fridge #3, pet the dishwasher – which door has left permanent indents on his shin bones, he's sure. He wants to stand in the kitchen and bask in the smell of a day of deep frying junk food, flipping burgers and pancakes mixed with detergent and low income.

He's gonna miss this place.

It's a bit of a surprise, really. He's worked here ever since he graduated high school, finding this miraculous job opportunity at the beginning of the summer vacation. He's kept it all through uni and only took leaves to do his internships but this is it, this time. The final goodbye. In a few days, he'll put his big boy pants on and get to work at a desk. _Sitting down_.

 _Yaaas_.

He knew he'd miss the people. He's made a lot of friends here, some that have come and gone and some he knows are for the long run. Louis and him were instant soulmates, on their very first shift together. They kept laughing harder and harder, incredulous, as they continuously found new things they had in common. They've been best buds ever since. Looking back, it's strange to even think that he hasn't known Tommo forever. Louis only worked here for that first year of uni, then he got a job at a record shop and took over a late night slot at a local radio station. Harry started weeks after Louis left. Reflecting back, Zayn can appreciate the irony, even though he feels sympathetic about the lost time. He and Harry were quick friends as well, Zayn appreciates a good cuddler. Even though there was never any serious attraction between them, they had – and on occasion, still have – a lot of fun with flirty banter, mostly because they know they look hot as hell together.

Those are friendships that will last forever. He's sure he'll keep in touch with Perrie, his companion of hardship tonight. He did shoo her out when her girlfriend Jade came to pick her up. No reason for her to miss out on couple time when he was yearning for a moment alone to say goodbye to the shop.

Other than that, though. This is goodbye.

Not completely. He'll come back and get his check form Simon. Give back his keys and insane amount of staff shirts. But he's doing his last closing right now.

He wipes sweat from his brow and crouches in a yet more awkward position to see if it helps him pour the salt in the dishwasher. He almost falls over, startled, when running footsteps come pounding through the diner towards the back. He swears, catches himself on the counter, ankle twisting under his weight shift, and pushes up into a standing position, fuming. The doors are wide open, because the AC has been broken all summer, so it's either on low or it blacks out the entire building. Given the amount of fridges and freezers in the back and the open kitchen, the atmosphere is stifling at the worst of times. Hence the open door, even this close to Fall. But the shop sign is on close and all the lights are off, street life providing enough for Zayn to finish up.

He's always felt violent hatred for people that come in and ask “are you still serving?” when the kitchen is obviously empty and dark and that the floor staff are manning brooms and mops. It shows such a lack of awareness and concern for what is going on around them. Some people even insist, ask if there's a way to get something even when they're politely told that 'no, sorry, we've sent the last orders in'. Because the cooks are still there, so why can't them make an extra burger? Well, asshole, because they're almost done cleaning everything and they're not gonna do it all again just for you.

Anyway. This time, it seems it's just someone making a run for the bathroom. It's very rude, especially without asking. Zayn's not heartless, if someone is nice and polite about it, he'll let them go. Just one person doesn't justify cleaning the whole bathrooms again. Unless, of course, the mad dasher was so because he was looking for a place to puke. It happens. More than the diner's staff would like. They have kids over estimating their capacity to pack on burgers _and_ milkshakes, or your common variety drunken visitor, disorderly or not. The neighborhood is student heavy with all the pubs and cinemas. They've had people barely making it... to the sinks. Zayn also remembers one particularly memorable time involving explosive diarrhea... Yeah. He is not up for that on his last night. Noooo thank you.

He strides over to the bathroom, huffy, a scowl on his face, ready for... well, apparently, not anything.

When he walks in, his steps stutter to a halt because the intruder is not even remotely where Zayn thought he – because it's a _he_ – would be, namely, either by the sinks or in a cubicle. Instead, he's panting, wide eyed, and flattened to the wall next to the door Zayn just barged in through, looking like he wants to disappear into the wall. He flinches when Zayn bursts in, then seems to relax a fraction at the sight. And “... holy shit,” Zayn breathes, and fear flashes across the guy's features again. “You're...” Zayn licks his lips. It can't be, right? But then... if Liam Payne had an insanely identical twin, one who was so not famous that he was completely unheard of, the odds would be the same, would they? “... what?”

“I'm sorry!” Payne... _squeaks_. He gulps in some air and pushes off the wall, but eyes the door as if he's expecting hellhounds to follow in. “I'm hiding! There's...”

Then everything gets louder. Commotion happens outside. And oh, that's a _mob_. Zayn's eyes widen in comprehension, just as Payne squeezes his own shut and scrunches up his face in frustration and anguish, turns his head back and hits it softly against the wall a few times.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... What is Zayn's life?

What is _Liam Payne_ 's life?! Running from people. Like, for real, swarms of creatures worse than ravenous zombies: _Fangirls_. Christ.

Zayn can hear his inner sarcastic Louis voice mocking him for being doubly blasphemous with his taking Jesus' name in vain while being Muslim. Oh well. Special circumstances. Also, figure of speech.

“Stay here,” Zayn says. “Uh, you should...” he gestures to the stalls. “... maybe?”

Payne tracks the movement, back and forth, his eyes catching on the ink on Zayn's wrist for the briefest instant, and nods.

“I'll... uh...” He hurries back out and slows his steps as soon as he gets to the floor to be as inconspicuous. As naturally as he can, he crosses between the tables. He almost trips into a chair stacked on a table in his laser focus on the door. There's a swarm outside. Girls, women, even men, grouped on the sidewalk. They look to be about two, three busloads, glued together, rushing from one side of the street to the other. They're running past the diner without paying it much mind. Since it's dark and deserted, the 24h MACY's and the movie theater next door seem more attractive. More plausible an escape route. Liam Payne would find comfort in a cinema, right? It makes sense for an artist. And you can maybe lose people in a huge, crowded department store. Zayn just hopes no one will prove more clever until he can reach the doors and casually bolt them shut. Or even after. If they were to try and ram it down, the sheer amount of nutcases on the sidewalk would do the trick. Some so called 'fans' spare him a glance as he swings the doors shut. He releases a breath he didn't know he was holding when he finishes locking them. His hands are trembling.

Shit. He takes back everything he ever said as a kid. He doesn't want to be famous. Ever. People are too scary.

He takes a few steadying breaths and straggles back to the bathroom, half expecting the whole thing to have been an hallucination. He goes into the Gents. “You there?” he calls, then wants to slap himself across the face. Where else would he be? Escaped through a tunnel?

A stall creaks open and Liam Freaking Payne steps out, looking pale and frazzled, but just as devastatingly gorgeous as he looks on giant billboards or glossy paper. Damn, there's no way to credit photoshop, right now. Or even good lighting. These are neon lights, they make everything look worse. And _yet_. Bloody hell. “They gone?”

“I think they're looking for you next door,” Zayn conjectures. “Shop's closed. But... holy crap. Give me a minute.” He leans against the wall of sinks and runs a hand through his hair. “ _I_ might mob you.” At Payne's immediate look of concern, he adds quickly. “I'm kidding.” a pause. “I think.”

The rock star shuffles, going from handsome supermodel from out of space to boyish in seconds, and crooks a grin. “I reckon I could take you. On your own, like.”

“Piss off,” Zayn shoots back with a chuckle, then he gives Payne a quick once over, meets his eyes and shrugs. “But... probably accurate, to be fair.”

Payne lets out a soft chuckle, a little chuff that Zayn always found endearing in his interviews, then sombers and sighs. “I'm sorry for, like... keeping you in late and... all of that.”

Zayn eyes the door. The noise seems to have died down, save the occasional car horn blaring. He thinks it somewhat safe to assume, for now, that no one has thought the object of their manhunt could be in here. “Well, uh... unless we get torn to shreds by rabid fans or summat, I guess you made my stay in this place end with a pretty cool flourish. Granted, no one's ever gonna believe it, but still.”

Payne tilts his head, as if he's actually interested in making sense of Zayn's words. “Your stay?”

“Oh. Been working here for ages. Last shift tonight.”

“Oh.” Payne blinks. “what are the odds?”

“Eh. What are the odds of you dropping onto my lap like this?” He freezes instantly, realizing the suggestive undertone to his words. “Not that-... uh... I didn't mean...”

Luckily, Payne just cracks up. “Oh man, your face!” he wheezes, eyes crinkling, and waves him off. “I got what you meant, don't worry.”

Zayn rubs the back of his neck, looking resolutely elsewhere. “So, um... what's the, uh... your plan? Right now.”

Payne sighs, walking closer. “Dunno. I'm... I was out with friends and I figured I'd ditch the bodyguard, you know? But they went home and people apparently tweeted I was there? So I couldn't get to the taxis before they started running after me.” He runs a hand through his mane, halts and scowls absently when he realizes there was gel in his hair. “They did tell me things would change, but I didn't think-...” he trails off. “I mean...”

“That's gotta be hella weird,” Zayn muses. “I mean, obviously, you must be used to-...”

“Mate, you don't get used to _that_.” Payne cuts in. “I mean... people recognizing you, yeah. Always kind of minding what you do and how you are in public, yeah, but... this?” He sighs. “Also, half of them being there to insult me is kinda new.” He cringes, patting his jacket at chest level. Zayn assumes it to be the location of an inside pocket. “My phone battery died, uh... you don't have a charger for the iphone 5, would you?”

“Sorry. Got an old crap phone.” Zayn shrugs. “Tried the whole touch screen giant phone for a while, but... they don't last long with me. I'm not gentle enough.”

“Balls.”

“You can use my phone, though. Or the shops'.”

Payne frowns and a tiny whines comes from his throat. That is neither a) very like Harry to do and b) adorable. Nope. “See. You'd think after a couple of times of this happening to me, I'd have made a paper copy of my important numbers.”

“Ah.” Maybe Zayn should do that, actually. The Nokia might be indestructible, but he could always lose it. He doesn't even know home's landline number by heart.

“I have, though,” Payne remarks. “It's just... in my flat, somewhere.”

Zayn smirks. “I bet it's feeling very useful, there.”

“Yeeup...” Payne drags the word out.

Zayn scratches the underside of his eyebrow. “Do you need to call someone specific? I could always call you a cab.”

The idea doesn't seem to sit right with Payne. “I guess it'll have to do. Paul is gonna _maim_ me.”

“Why?”

“Cabs can be... given that there are people out looking for me around the block right now, there's bound to be some chatter. On twitter or something. I don't know how they get their info, but... Some of them are specialized in targeting those calls and picking you up.”

 _No way_.

Something clicks in Zayn's mind. “... is this how those pics of you and Niall Horan happened last year? When you were drunk and laughing in the car and he fell alseep on you?”

“...yeah.”

Paparazzi cabs. Hells bells. A sudden idea strikes. “Wait! I live not far from here. It's off the boulevard, tiny street, people won't see you, but uh... We might have a charger there. Harry's fancy new job gave him a new phone. I think it might be a 5C, they have the same charger, innit?”

“I think so... that'd be... I don't wanna...”

“Look. It's like a fifteen minutes walk. Ten if we hurry. We'd have to walk outside for a bit but there's a turn off the boulevard just a couple of shops away. After that, the only living things we'll pass are rats and cats. I mean... The place is cramped and probably not what you're used to but it's probably safer for you to hang around there waiting for... a cab or whatever car they send for you, than here in a place made of windows.”

Payne considers. “... provided we reach your flat.”

“Yeah.” Zayn walks back into the restaurant section, staying in the back, where the darkness would conceal him from anyone on the street. He hears Payne step behind him. “Look, seems like it's cool, yeah? I mean, I could always call the cops, say you were in danger. Which is true. And they can escort you some place?”

“What? No! Hell no.” Payne shakes his head violently. “I'd rather risk the mob, to be honest. If I end up with the cops, then Paul _and_ everyone else will kill me.” He lets out a quiet groan. “I'd rather not make another front page this week.”

“Okay, so... Give me a sec... Hang here, in the dark, yeah?” Zayn rounds the bar hurriedly and grabs his stuff. He eyes the salt pack and the dishwasher and thinks, fuck it. At least he's one of the few who _remember_ to do it once a week. It'll do. He puts the salt away and throws the floor towel near the kitchen's door to the caves. Dick move, but if anyone complains, he'll have an explanation. Most of the closing is done. The bar is clean, the stock is done. Now there's just this one bit of getting home. Celebrity in tow. He eyes the back of the store. From where he stands, bathed in the dreamy glow from the street, he cannot see Payne. But he sees shadows move when he looks over. “I'm gonna check, yeah?” He announces, then approaches the doors. Luckily, the path to the flat would lead them away from where the crowd had rushed earlier. The street seems to have gone back to the usual peaceful straggle of this time of night. Payne seems to have drawn the same conclusion, as he's stepping closer. He fishes something that appears to be a beanie out of his jacket, and shoves it on his head. He pulls it down halfway on his forehead. Zayn considers. If you looked at him, you could still recognize him without a doubt. But his 'I'm a Beckam-Timberlake cross breed' impression is toned down a bit. He looks 'common' enough that Zayn hopes most people wouldn't glance at his face. Except. “Maybe take off the jacket?”

Payne eyes his burgundy coat. “Oh yeah.” If people were still looking around, they would probably look for that. Payne folds it inside out, the doubling on the inside black and beige patterned.

“Want mine? Dark is better.” Zayn gestures to his leather hanging from the rack paces away from them. It would help conceal Payne's white graphic tee. “I mean, don't get me wrong, Green Lantern is cool, but now's probably the time to blend in with the shadows.

Payne gives him a look. “A fellow nerd, uh?” he grins to himself and grabs Zayn's jacket. Good thing it's always been a bit big around Zayn's shoulders, because it fits him. Like... it's just tight enough to look purposefully tight. Christ.

Get a grip, Malik. You can revisit the sight of sex symbols in your clothes _later_.

Trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Liam Fucking Payne is trusting him and letting Zayn literally take him home – although, sadly, not metaphorically –, Zayn leads him outside, punches the alarm's keypad on his way out and locks the door again. He leans in close, pressing his ear to the glass.

Payne shifts anxiously from foot to foot, glancing nervously around. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the alarm to-...” _beep_ “there. We're good to go.” Zayn doesn't waste any time, he jerks his chin the right way and starts walking. Payne falls into step by his side, trying to make himself look small and inconspicous. Zayn does his best to walk half a step ahead, shielding his features from passing cars. “There,” he nearly pushes Payne into the passage between two buildings, and realizes that they were both as tense about the whole thing.

“You, uh...” Payne tugs at the leather. “... okay. I'm following a stranger into a dark alley. My mom would be so proud...”

Zayn snorts in laughter. “Yeah, mate. I lured you here to kill you. Risking my arse against your fans and lending you my jacket was just foreplay.”

Payne chuffs. “No offence, I trust you, I just... I think I've had my fill of risky behavior for the night.”

“I feel ya.”

“Oh, uh... um...”

He eyes the movie star. In the dark alley, as they're hurrying down the narrow, dimly lit turns, it's hard to make his expression. But if Zayn had to go out on a limb, he'd say Payne looks embarrassed. “... _yeah_?” he presses.

“What's uh... what's your name?”

… oh. Huh. Right. He lets out an incredulous laugh. “Oh man. I'm Zayn. Zayn Malik.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I'm-...”

“ _Payne_ ,” Zayn gruffs. “I swear to god, if you're about to introduce yourself, I will flip my shit.”

Payne ducks his head. “Okay. Uh. But I'm still grateful for your help and... the odds that have made you present when and where you were, yeah? Cause it looks like I'm good now, and that's all thanks to you.”

“You're welcome, big guy.” What? Stop flirting.

No. That's not flirting. That's the way he treats Hazza. That's assuming the guy is his _friend_. “Also, uh... Payne is fine, like... But you can call me Liam.”

Zayn takes a bit to process that. “Okay, _Liam_.”

“Thank you.” A beat passes. “Say, _Zayn_ ,” is he _teasing_ now? Crap, crap, crap. Cool it, Malik. “You said ten minutes, yeah? Are we close?”

The place is damp, a maze of narrow dead end passages with minimal lighting. Zayn can see how it's bellow Payne's standard. “Block away.”

While Zayn is answering, a big tabby scuttles past them and Pay-... Liam startles comically and almost trips into Zayn. “Thank god.”

Zayn covers his eyes and tries to hide his blush. “Oh god, stop that. Please.”

“What?”

“Don't...” Zayn shakes his head. “I'm trying to treat you like a guy, yeah? Normal bloke. But if you go all adorable like that, because you go scared by the big bad kitty, I'm gonna start fanboying again.”

Liam says nothing, but he appears to be pinching his lips between his lips to fight a smirk.

“No, seriously, man. If I let myself process this, I will _freak_ out.”

Payne finally cracks and chuckles. “How bad are we talking?”

“Flailing. Tears. Hyperventilating.” He might be exaggerating a bit. But he's not really sure. The only cool person he's met before was Iron Man. And that was just a very cool costume. “You'd have to carry me to my place.” He sighs, dramatically. “Lucky for you, you wouldn't have to go far.” He gestures at a door. “We're here.”

As he's reaching up to type in the code, a flash of Louis' antics goes through his mind and he types in a long, wound out series of numbers, and ends it with a flourish by the four relevant digits. He eyes Payne over his shoulder as the door beeps open.

Liam has an eyebrow ducked. “You're fucking with me.”

Grinning, Zayn pushes in. “Dunno what you're talking about, sir...” he flicks on the light. “This happens to be a secret access to the Roosevelt Subway station,” he quips, never mind that it's located in NYC and a very nerdy reference that will likely fall flat as hell.

“Oh yeah, you're Peter Parker, then?” Or not. Really as big a nerd as he says he is in interviews, then. Damn.

Zayn hushes him in and throws a smirk over his shoulder. “Mh hm. You caught me.”

“If you are, then, can I be Batman?”

Zayn cackles. “Liam Wayne. I like that. Sounds like it's meant to be.” He turns as they cram into the tiny elevator. Hello, pecs. “But wait, no. You'd have to be the Catman. Cause you're scared of cats.”

“I am not,” Payne defends primly, tilting his nose up in the air. “I just don't like jump scares.” It's hard to tell whether it's for comedy or not.

“You don't like _cat scares_.”

“You're mocking me in my state of need.” And _oh shit_ , those are the trademarked Liam Payne Puppy Eyes and Pout. Christ. Zayn's only ever seen those in interviews and behind the scenes footage. Meaning: _not in person_. Reign the fanboy in. He makes a hasty escape out of Payne's personal bubble when they reach the right floor. “That's mean. You're a mean person, Zayn Malik.”

“So mean I'm letting you in my flat.” Zayn unlocks the door and swings it open, his voice dropping lower on reflex. “Uh, by the way, we have to keep it down. I mentioned I have flatmates?”

“Alright.”

Zayn points to a spot by the door and its overhanging coat rack. “Shoes and jackets _can_ go here. You can keep them on if you want.”

He demonstrates by kicking his own shoes off and ducks into the kitchen without checking on the superstar. Seconds later, as he sticks his head into the fridge, he hears the soft pad of socked feet announce Payne's entrance. “Beer?”

Liam makes a non committal noise. “I think I've had enough poison for tonight,” he admits, lack of enthusiasm evident and understandable.

Zayn gives him a look over the door. “OJ? Milk? Tea? … Coffee?” he frowns. “There might be vervain somewhere.”

“I'll have that if you find it.”

Zayn nods, and flicks the kettle on. He does locate the herbal tea and gets a beer for himself. When the kettle clicks off he realizes that... he's basically invited Liam Payne for a drink, and he-...

“...babe.” Harry's voice interrupts Zayn before he starts thinking too much.

Both night owls, and current occupants of the kitchen, look up to find the overgrown manchild running a hand through his wild bed hair, blinking sleepy eyes at the bright light. Small mercies, the pair of shorts he's wearing is very thin and doesn't hide much in terms of how generous mother nature was when she shaped Harry Styles, but it _is_ there. He smiles softly at Liam. “...thought I'd heard you come in-... “ his face freezes abruptly and he blinks upon taking in the unexpected guest. _Shit_.

Zayn chews on his lip. He can see this going down a lot of different ways. Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell Liam is frozen uncertainly, mouth half open as if to say something, but ultimately at a loss. Zayn can relate.

Harry doesn't say anything for a second or two, and then mumbles “I'm still asleep, aren't I?” then flicks his eyes to Zayn. “Why am I in _your_ dream?”

“Harry!” Zayn hisses as Payne lets out a tiny startled noise that _sounds_ like a giggle. “Go back to bed!”

“This guy looks like Liam Payne,” Harry remarks, and Zayn wants to slap himself. “Like... a lot.” Or Harry. He starts forward. If the blabbermouth isn't going to leave on his own, he will make him. “And he's wearing your jacket. Nice pull, Malik.”

Now this time Payne definitely snorted. “Shut up!” Zayn bodily turns Harry around and marches him back to the hallway he came from. “Piss off,” he hisses under his breath, voice distorted by the urge to giggle – and possibly to follow Harry and never come out of hiding.

“It's not healthy, I think,” Harry mutters, undeterred.

“Go. To Bed.”

Zayn's guiding hands produce the desired effect and Harry stragglesback to his room on his own, albeit too late.

“Oh my god.” Zayn takes a breath and turns back around to find Liam Payne, sans the jacket which is now hanging from the coat rack, stirring his herbal tea bag around is mug by the string, looking like he might burst out laughing any second. He clears his throat. “So... that was Harry. My roommate. The oaf.”

“Aha,” Payne acknowledges. “ _Nice pull_?”

 _Of course you wouldn't let it slide, you fucker,_ Zayn thinks. Then again, it's probably payback for the teasing. Fine. Play it cool. Go with the truth, nothing but the truth... just not the whole truth. “Eh. Sorry. You just walked in into a flat shared by three gay dudes. Hope that's not too scary,” he says casually. He has no reason to assume that Payne will not be chill about it, but he's learned a few things in life. One, what celebrities appear like when they display persona and who they are in reality maybe very different. Two, the straight guys that are uncomfortable in gays' presence are usually just ignorant and awkward, and react well to early, straight up (ha!) warning, as opposed to finding out later and feeling like they've been mislead. Which is dumb, but anything to make everyone more comfortable. Three, emphasizing the lack of predation does wonders on the ones who think that just because you're attracted to one gender you're attracted to all of it, and you don't give a shit about consent and reciprocity in flirtation. He'd bet money Payne fits neither of those criteria, but... better safe than sorry. He waggles a hand towards hallway where Harry disappeared. “Harry and Louis are, like... a decade running now. They're playing engagement chicken.”

Payne gives him a speculative look, his lips quirking a little. “... How do you play engagement chicken?” He's cool, then. Way to live up to a fan's fantasies, Payne.

Zayn uncaps his beer and jerks his chin for Liam to follow him to the living room, smiling softly as he thinks of his dumbass best friends. Whom he loves. So, so much. “You say shit like _“when we're married”_ , _“you better not teach our kids that”_ , or _“I want Ed Sheeran for the first dance”_ and only pretend you're kidding.”

“Ah,” Payne nods sagely. “Which song?”

Zayn freezes halfway into plopping down on the couch. He overbalances, and ends up falling into it gracelessly, staring at the other man. “Oh my god, you _know_ him!”

Liam bites down on his lip to stifle a grin as he sits next to him. In the dim light, Zayn thinks he might see a faint blush on his cheeks. “He'd love that,” Payne muses. “Like, really love it.”

“Oh god.” Zayn takes a long pull of his beer and tries to process that. Well, _yeah_ , imagine. Your song. Your baby. Your creation. So meaningful to someone that-... to some _ones_. Somehow he'd never thought about it form the artists' perspective. It's mind boggling.

“Soooo... _your_ dream?”

Oh, the utter arse-... Zayn groans and narrows his eyes at Payne. “Yeah. You're pretty fit. I'm sure that's not news to you. I might have made a passing comment or two about it.” He pokes the butt of his beer bottle to Payne's bicep. “Stop fishing for praise, yeah?”

Payne snorts with a crooked grin. “Alright, I'm done teasing.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says, and takes a pointed pull at his beer. Then he stiffens. “Shit.” Under Payne's surprised gaze, he springs up from the couch, and hurries to the small desk crammed in the corner of the room. He pulls the drawers open one by one until he gets his hand on the spare charger he suspected was there. He squints at it and hands it over to Payne for examination. “Here. Does that look like a fit? If it's not, I'm gonna have to go into their room and this time I'm not sure I can confuse Harry back to sleep.”

Payne grins faintly at the image. “You're safe. That looks right.”

The phone stays silent when it's plugged, meaning it is truly completely discharged. They settle in to wait until it can be turned back on. The silence stretches on for a while, but it doesn't feel awkward. They both sip at their drinks, Payne taking in the room with an almost childlike curiosity. He checks with Zayn for the go ahead, then rises up from the couch to get a closer look at book shelves, music collections and pictures. He grins a bit when he finds his albums in the mix, ducks an eyebrow when he finds the latest opus twice. “I bought it,” Zayn jerks his chin towards the hallway. “Same day they did. Day it came out.” Payne doesn't say anything in response, but he looks touched.

When he progresses away from the low light of the lamp by the couch, Zayn gets up as well and goes to flick on another on Harry's desk. Payne snorts a quiet laugh upon discovering a framed picture of a twenty year old Zayn making a screaming face at the camera. In protest, he lets out a quiet, dragging “Heey...” that makes him inwardly think that he's been spending too much time teasing Harry. There's a group picture coming next, in which all three roommates and Gemma can be seen, all cuddled together on Louismas – also known to the public as Christmas Eve. He's about to take the opportunity to introduce Harry's soulmate and sister when Payne's phone chimes.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” he says, spell broken as they both glance over at the sound. “I'm gonna go change out of this sweaty thing, and you can make your phone call.”

He takes a birdbath in the sink, throws on a tank top and a fresh shirt, and after pondering the thought, changes into sweats. When he listens for sounds coming from the shared living room, he doesn't hear any, so he makes his way back to his guest, finding Payne sitting cross legged on the couch, hugging his vervain to his chest with one hand while checking out the first number of the Deadpool series. “Hey.”

Payne seems to startle out of his reverie. “Hey,” he glances at the comic book, then back at Zayn. “I hope this is okay. Haven't seen that one in a while.”

“Yeah, yeah... knock yourself out. This one's actually Louis', I'm more of a DCkind of lad myself, but...”

“Really? Thought you said you were Peter Parker?” he sneaks a smirk his way, which informs him he hasn't missed the pictures featuring Zayn in two different Batman themed shirts. Then, he abruptly stiffens and sets the book down. “Shit, sorry, I'm like... I'm just chilling at your place like I'm at a friend's like...”

“Hey. S'cool.” Zayn points at the book. “You're a nerd. I like that.”

Payne ducks his head with a bashful smile, the one that gets him onto that hottest bachelors lists. He fiddles with his cup for a while, then sets it down. “Hey, so... I got a few options, right here.”

Zayn ducks an eyebrow at him.

“Um... I couldn't reach Paul. Which I'm not really surprised about, mind you. They've got a newborn and he definitely deserves to switch off and catch whatever sleep he can when he's home, you see?” Payne shrugs. “So, like... I can either go back – don't worry, I think I'll find my way. I uh... I'll be mindful of the cats. – and try and catch a cab on the avenue. Hopefully, things have died down, yeah?”

Zayn narrows his eyes. The rest of the speech doesn't come, so he prompts. “Or...?”

“I, uh... I hang out here until he wakes up or it's time for feeding or something? He'll probably get back to me then. If not, then... when it's like, six or something I'll go and get a cab. Hopefully, not one hunting for a candid shot.”

Zayn thinks. “Couldn't you call a car service?”

“I... Well, yeah. I... Paul's my driver, so I don't actually use any, usually. And, shit, like... I sent him off. But yeah, you're right.”

Zayn has to reign in the urge to slap himself silly. He quickly scoots forward and gestures to stop the man from reaching for his phone again. “Payne, just... stay. I mean...” he gives a crooked grin. “Mate, if you wanna stick around, be my guest. Like... literally. Be my guest. Give me a story to tell when I'm baked and no one believes me.”

Payne looks at him, stock still for the duration of his rambling, then lets out a genuine chuckle. “You-... yeah? You sure? That's no bother?”

“Nah, man. I mean... I helped you out, invited you here. M'not gonna kick ya out now.” He shrugs. It wouldn't be the first time they've had random acquaintances, friend-of-a-friends crashing.

“Sweet.” Payne mumbles in his mug. “Thanks a bunch, mate, you're brilliant.”

“Eh.”

“Also, _Liam_.”

“Sorry.” It's not exactly that Zayn forgot, it's... would _you_ call a superstar by their first name even if they told you to? Like, would you manage to get it past your lips without feeling completely awkward?

“ _Holy shit..._ ” Zayn starts out of his thoughts. Pay-... Liam's eyes have wandered above his head, he whips around, trying to get a look at what prompted the dumbstruck whisper. “Is that... season eight, nine and ten?”

Zayn goes a confused back and forth between Liam and the bookshelf behind him. The comics...? “... Mr Payne. Are you admitting to being a Buffy aficionado?”

Liam snorts. “If you mean a Whedon addict, then yeah. Nerd, out and proud. Joss is a genius.”

Zayn gapes exaggeratively for a moment. “Man, you are so _normal_.”

A wistful expression takes over Liam's face for a second, then he shrugs it off with a smile. “Well yeah. My life got weird a few years back, but... I'm still as 'normal' as I ever was before that, I suppose.”

Zayn wants to ask. There's something there. Insecurities and sadness. Stardom is great, granted. It pays the bills _and then some_. But it has to have so many shitty side effects that haven't even crossed Zayn's mind, yet. But he doesn't. For all that Payne wants to be on a first name basis, they're nothing to each other. Why would he share? Why would it be okay for Zayn to ask. He finishes his beer and absently rolls up the sleeves of his over shirt. “Yeah, it is. Season Ten's still coming out, but yeah.”

“S'cool. I need to catch up.”

“S'worth it. Some of it's nuts.”

“Oh, like... Dawn and Xander? Whaaat?”

“Oh, you read that far, yeah? Yeah, that's just... yeah.” Zayn's mind drifts as he thinks of something else.

“What?”

“Nah, I... spoilers.”

“Come on.”

“I... Okay. There's a bit, in... I think it's S9, the end? I dunno. Spike and Angel are fighting.”

“As usual.”

“Right. And... it's confirmed. They used to be a thing.”

Liam grins and leans forward. “ _No,_ ” he purrs. “I mean, duh, we all knew that, but... it's actually confirmed?”

“In passing. But yeah. At the very least, they made out.” Zayn smirks. “Spike is 'pretty sure he never actually mentioned that' to Buffy.”

“This is how he plays it?!” Liam cackles. “Love, _love_ Whedon. What a crazy genius guy.”

They smile to themselves for a second. Zayn ponders offering for Payne to borrow the graphic novels, but... let's be real. He can afford them. More than. And it's not like he's a friend who can give them back when he's done reading them. Maybe he could mention that he's welcome to leaf through them tonight. He's about to say so when Liam gestures with his tea cup in his direction, giving Zayn's bare forearms a pointed look.

“Nice ink, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Zayn traces the edge of black paint splatters on his wrist absently. “I'm... we're all a bit covered.” As Liam couldn't possibly have missed earlier, as far as Harry's concerned, given his state of undress.

“Not one to judge. Clearly.” Liam pats his wrist. The only tattoo showing right now is the 'Only time will tell...' and... yeah, okay. Zayn has to keep a smile in, because Arial? Seriously? But that aside, he knows, because he may have spent some time staring, gobsmacked, like the rest of the world, at pictures of Liam at the beach, that there are others. The four chevrons. The writing. The feather. Zayn strokes at his chest through his shirt absently.

“Yeah. Some stuff you wanna keep close, yeah?”

They lapse again in a comfortable, pensive silence. Zayn's eyes settle on his finished beer. He casts a glance at Liam, who's tipping the last of his own drink into his mouth. Zayn resolutely looks away from the way his head is angled backwards and his swallow clearly visible. “Hey, so... Do you wanna sleep? I'll go grab you a blanket.”

Liam blinks at him, as if it takes a few moments for him to make sense of the plan. “Oh. Uh, I'm not tired. But I wasn't working today... I should probably let you get some Zs.” That's probably Zayn's mind trying to be funny, but it almost sounds like Liam is disappointed.

“Please,” Zayn blurts out before Liam's tone even registers. “like I'm gonna sleep knowing you're in my living room.”

It doesn't have the mood lightening effect he intended. Instead, a flash of contrition and awkwardness come across Liam's features. “I don't wanna-...”

“Mate...” Better cut that sentence right there. Zayn, once again, opts for the truth. “I'll start yawning in about two hours, but if you let me, I'd rather keep chatting with that guy I never thought I'd even get to _see_ in real life.”

Liam looks at him like he's trying to puzzle him out. It's a bit much. Zayn resist the urge to tug at his – already loose and exposing ink – collar in a nervous gesture. “Okay. If you're sure.”

“If _you're_ sure,” he counters. Even though they seem to have a tacit understanding that they're acting like they're two average blokes, it still feels a lot like Liam Payne granting permission to even breathe in his presence.

“Truthfully?” Bashful Liam Payne should be classified as tactical warfare. Zayn boggles at the possible cause of embarrassment. “I'm not good at sleeping in strange places. So if you wanna keep me company, have at it. My pleasure.”

 _His_ pleasure?! His pl-...?! “Are you even real?”

It's clearly the wrong thing to say, even though Zayn couldn't help the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Payne looks down with a sad chuckle. “I get asked that a lot.” He visibly makes an effort to look back at Zayn and give him a smile. It looks like someone putting on a brave face. “Eh.”

“Sorry.” He's not really sure what he's apologizing for. For reminding Liam of all those fans that lose all their senses when they meet him in person? For reverting back into one of them every time Liam's utter loveliness takes him by surprise? For Liam to ever have to put on a game face? “Do you really?” he asks quietly.

Payne's forearms are resting on his thighs, and he swivels his head to meet Zayn's eyes. “Do I what?”

“Have trouble falling asleep in strange places?”

He seems to take Zayn's question as disbelief, instead of, well... perhaps, marvel at how human and relatable he seems. “I'm serious. I'd probably end up dicking around on my phone until I passed out or the sun came up.”

Zayn blinks. “That... explains a lot of your late night twitter sprees. Which are priceless, by the way.”

Liam meets his eyes again, and his gaze lights up when he undoubtedly sees the twinkle in Zayn's. “... I have no idea what you mean,” he says, primly, eyes crinkling.

Zayn chuckles, then leans back into the couch. “Must be tough, on tour.”

Payne sighs and follows suit. He unfolds himself and throws an arm over the backrest, towards Zayn. “It's not fun. I have... tricks and stuff,” he frowns. “I'm wary of sleep medication and shit, because I've known people that got addicted bad to that shit, so like...”

When he doesn't continue, Zayn pokes at a cushion in the space between them, getting his attention back. “Like what? Tell me.”

“You actually wanna know?” Zayn shrugs. It's as good a conversation topic as any. “Well, my audible stats are pretty high.”

Zayn perks up. “Book nerd?”

“Definitely,” Liam says with conviction, then lifts a pointed finger off the couch, without actually moving his arm. “But the kind of book nerd that would find it disrespectful to fall asleep to a book. Like, it's someone's work. Also, I'd hate to wake up, have missed a part and spoil myself, so... So there's no way I haven't actually listened to the whole thing before it goes into, uh, my sleeping soundtrack, if you will.”

“Nice. Yeah, totally get that.” However, Liam has been _everywhere_ , lately. On his tv screen, on the tabloid rags outside of work, on his various news feeds. Even in fashion spreads – what, Zayn is still looking for _The_ Leather Jacket, fuck off –. So... “But, I mean... when do you find the time to listen to them then?”

Liam shuffles a little, settling in, and Zayn's stomach does a little flip. This is real. This is happening. Liam Payne is going to hang out until whoever it was calls him back, and he's not only a fascinating public persona, but he seems like a pretty decent lad in person. “Back before this all became a thing, like, my life, I used to listen while I did chores.” He chuckles faintly. “Mate, there was no way I'd do dishes without someone telling me an entertaining story. This is why I had a broom and barely used the vacuum cleaner.”

“Aha. I see.” Zayn makes a mental note. New life hack to try out.

“Now, mostly when I work out? Or like, long flights and car rides between interviews. Some books I like so much I know they'll make me laugh or pull me in, they sometimes help me zen out before a gig when I'm nervous, you know?”

“That's pretty awesome.”

The conversation naturally veers onto books. Which one they've read or listened to recently, which author they liked, what recommendation. They talk good and bad movie adaptations, banter about which movies were surprisingly actually better than the original written work – Liam maintains that both the Sleepy Hollow movie and tv show are better than the novel, while Zayn argues that it's not the _point_ , they're different stories altogether.

Sometime during the night, Payne becomes Liam. And they start chatting about comic books, and childhood fantasy jobs and football. When 5:45 hits and he gets a call back to expect a driver in a while, it's not Payne who has to leave. It's just Liam.

 

xXx

 

Zayn sits at the kitchen after Liam's departure, pondering the smarts in going to bed at such a late hour. His last week at work is seriously weighing on him and he feels like he'd drop in an instant, but he also wants to contemplate what the hell his night just turned into and replay it over and over to be sure Liam's laugh and friendly approchableness stays sharp in his mind. He still hasn't made up his mind as to what to do, when Harry makes the decision for him, walking into the kitchen and thereby announcing the arrival of a time called “Too Late”.

Or maybe he fell asleep at the table?

“You look like shit.”

Zayn's eyebrows lift as Harry delivers his passing comment. “Thanks,” he croaks, voice raw from disuse. “Didn't sleep much.” Ha. Either that, or he had the wildest LSD trip ever.

“Tea?”

“Hm.”

Zayn swivels in his seat to watch Harry work. He and Louis do that. It's not that they're lazy or they're abusing Harry's willingness to 'serve them'. Once Harry is in a kitchen, and he knows he's not stepping on anyone's toes, he will _demand_ full control over it. He'll ask you want you feel like, and make it the best version of it you've ever tasted so you never want anyone else at the stove. Sometimes, Louis muses that maybe it's a ploy. That Harry is some sort of food incubus. Zayn is inclined to agree. Especially with his fuzzy, sleepy head.

“Eggs?”

“Hm.”

“Two?”

“Three?”

Harry nods, gets out his supplies. Zayn's stomach growls in approval when he notices the tomato sauce, cream, cheese and basil Harry choses. Incubus. It makes sense. Wordlessly, Zayn hops off the stool he's occupied for a length of time he is himself not certain off, and pops some bread into the toaster. That's the one thing Harry allows in 'his' kitchen. And even then, under his supervision.

Zayn yawns silently, sparking a snowballing echo in Harry. He feels a bit stiff, and works his neck until he's more satisfied. With the laziness of a cat, he stretches his upper back with a contented smirk. Funny how just that can make you feel more awake. In combination with the heavenly scent of breakfast being made, it's heaven.

Harry twists a little towards him, opening his mouth, but freezes like that. He seems to think better of it and doesn't speak. Instead, he sucks in a breath and turns back to the frying pan.

“You didn't dream it.” Zayn puts him out of his misery.

Harry turns back to him with wide eyes. “I didn't?!”

“No.”

He stares at Zayn for a long while, face unreadable, then it softens, but gains a faint edge of protest. “And you guided me back to bed?!”

“Uh...” Shit. “I did? I... fuck, I'm a shit friend, ain't I?” He feels bad, suddenly. He didn't even think... “But I mean...”

“I know. He's not a circus freak. I get it.” Harry says softly, and Zayn loves him so much. He's a lovely person, and he lets go of about any shit Louis and Zayn pull.

Still. Even with how strange the whole thing was, he didn't even think to... It's like he hogged Liam all for himself. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes widening at the madness of the thing. And he just... he just called him Liam in his head, like... like he _knows_ him. And it's absurd but it's funny because it _feels_ like he does. And it makes Zayn want to curl up in bed under a pile of blanket and not move for days, playing Liam's records on a loop because it's _insane_.

“Two minutes, hun!” Harry calls reflexively, in the direction of the bedrooms. Louis is the resident tea expert (read: he's a whiny bitch about everyone else's 'way' so they have him make it), and they've worked out a warning system so that their breakfast routine works. Zayn puts the pot and their strongest black tea on the table. He's going to need Irish Breakfast blend today. Harry, lifts the pan and shakes it in a figure either motion, making sure nothing stuck to the bottom, and sighs. “Damn. So it was really him?”

“Yeah.” Zayn blinks and tries to get his eyes to open properly. “I mean, the only fact that really tells me _I_ didn't dream it is that I can _feel_ the sleepless night.”

“ _Damn_.”

“Wassup?” Louis flicks on the kettle as he walks by, ducking a curious eyebrow at their current conversation. He leans in to steal a kiss from Harry and bumps his shoulder with Zayn's before he rounds the center island and hops on a high stool. “Mornin', Z.”

Zayn feels Harry's gaze on him before he turns to his boyfriend and catches him up. “Liam Payne spent the night in our flat. With Zayn.”

The latter lifts a hand and opens his mouth to object to how that last part sounds, but his words die down when he takes in Louis' face. Who is staring at his boyfriend, deadpan. “Uh huh.”

“Serious,” Harry says, apparently unaware of Louis' utter disbelief. “I came out for a wee and I heard Zayn come in. Only he wasn't alone.”

Louis blinks at him for another beat, then turns to pin Zayn with a flat look. Zayn shrugs. “He's not taking the piss.”

Harry turns and eyes Louis, while the blue eyed man considers them silently. “Okay.” It's gracious indulgence and irritating condescension condensed in one, single _dry_ word. Louis Tomlinson in a nutshell.

“We're not kidding!” Harry protests, he sounds a little wounded.

Silence passes, Harry pouts at the frying pan as he divides the eggs mournfully. “It's not April yet, guys.”

“We're not _kidding_.” Zayn reiterates.

“Whatever.”

Harry huffs and turns his back firmly to his boyfriend, aiming a small grin at Zayn, eyes glittering. “Did you get an autograph?”

Did he get an-... “... uh.”

“You didn't?!”

“Duh.” Louis mutters, which they both ignore with a skill only years of petty arguments between roommates give.

“I didn't wanna, like, jump him with it and then I sorta... forgot?” Zayn feels like slapping himself, honestly. He _actually_ forgot. Even like, take a selfie with the guy, since it's apparently the new form of autograph, which they _had a proper laugh about_ mere hours ago, dammit!

“Uh huh.”

Harry's disappointed face is a menace, Zayn grasps at straws to cheer him up. Oh! “But we had a snack and he said your green tea cookies were awesome.”

Light explodes across Harry's face, forgetting his previous mood, he slaps the back of his hand to Louis' arm. “Did you hear that, Boo?”

“Yes,” Louis answers tonelessly. “I'm right here.” He grabs the kettle and fills the pot.

“He said my cookies were awesome!”

“Yup. Heard it the second time, too,” Louis mutters, and pokes his index finger at his chest. “Good ear, that Tommo chap.”

Zayn sighs. This is gearing up to be a great breakfast moment. He turns around and almost lets out a squeak when he finds Harry looming very close. Harry, tall, naked, shower-wet and looming. “Haz. We agreed that your Castiel impersonations were cute, but please refrain until you're dressed, man. Personal space?”

Harry takes a minuscule step back, eyes still narrowed in focus. Zayn can feel Louis watching them. “Did you guys hook up?”

It takes a couple of blinks for the dots to connect. “Are you for real?!” Zayn blurts out. “Come _on_. That guy looks about as gay as an army funeral. _And_ he has the entire world of the rich and famous at his feet.” He snorts. “I wouldn't have stood a chance even if it was in the realms of possibilities,” he lets out a nervous giggle at the mere idea. “Besides, can you picture it? I would have lost all form of self control and made a fool of myself. Hitting on a Liam? Me? Nope. I mean, I barely kept the fanboy in check all night. Serious.” He trails off and, yeah, okay. Babble much?

Fine. Zayn's not very versed in lying to himself. In retrospect, he would have _loved_ if Liam had made a move in that direction. But the guy was just so genuinely nice and normal that his libido kind of fell to the back burner in favor of geeking out with a fellow nerd?

But uh, now that Harry mentions it, he's uh... there're chances this past night might be revisited during lonely moments in the shower. Or something.

Harry, the smug fucker who knows how to read Zayn's babble like a pro, is smirking at him. _Hard_.

Louis snorts. “I'm trying to decide if you two are fucking with me or if you're actually gullible enough to be had by a lookalike with a silver tongue,” he says while watching as Harry picks his phone up from the counter and fiddles with it. “Should I start looking around for missing valuables? Are you missing time, Zayner?”

Zayn sighs. Today had started in such a good place. “Look, Lou, I'm not-...” he trails off when Harry shoves Louis' phone into his face. It seems, Zayn's eyes skim across headlines, that Harry has looked up Liam Payne in the News section. “... he _what?!_ ”

 

xXx

 

Zayn blows on his coffee, vaguely thinking that if he were back at the diner, he would have made himself a big ass latte with foam he'd expertly steamed on top because _treating yourself_. Seriously, it's stupid the things you miss about your student job when you land “the dream position”. He doesn't miss standing all day, though. Just to remind himself, he wriggles on his sinfully comfortable desk chair.

He could have taken a long break, though. It's not like he couldn't have afforded rent if he'd taken more than five days off. _Five days_. Not even a week. He's managed to get his sleep schedule back in order after his impromptu sleepless night and subsequent zombie day, but he's trying not to think about it too much. He's not really the kind to blurt out things that happen or have happened to him to people randomly. He usually let the experiences swirl around in his head, a comfort of thoughts and knowledge like a secret that makes him smile to himself. He guesses this is part of the reasons why people chose to call him 'mysterious'. But this... he doesn't know what to make of it. He met a freaking A lister, and by the end of the night they'd hugged and clapped each other on the back like they were two normal lads who'd met through friends and hit it off. Had this been _anyone else_ , Zayn would be happy with the knowledge that he'd made a new acquaintance. A person he'd soon see around at someone's party, and he'd be greeted cheerfully with a warm smile and already a few private jokes.

“Malik?”

“Hm?” Zayn lifts his eyes to find one of his new colleagues looking at him. “Zayn, please.”

Josh beams back at him, flicking a fringe containing absolutely zero natural hair color out of his startling blue eyes. “Sick. Zayn, buddy. I was sent by the team as an ambassador,” he bows dramatically with a hand on his chest. Zayn ponders the dangers of introducing Louis to his straight döppleganger. “We're all in conference A, ready for you.”

Zayn gets up and snatches his usb drive. “Lead the way.”

He tries not to show how nervous he is. He's been hired to take the lead on a project, and he's well aware, judging by the time alloted for it, that it's his trial run. If he can work with the team, prove efficient and manage to solve the problems presented to him, he will prove G.Tech worthy. It's a little bit out of his purview, since he's mostly a graphic and concept designer, but he's already had a very reassuring pow wow with Josh, who's specialized in coding and he feels they're up to the task, provided they manage to communicate and agree on what should be done.

Nearly three hours later, they tumble out to lunch together, laughing, and Zayn feels more confident than never. The pressure hasn't ebbed away, but Josh, Mike, Matt and Ian have been nothing but welcoming of him. When he started getting into his ideas on their project – basically, how to make CGI heavy graphics and effects look natural, beautiful, but remain light weight in terms of final product and coding – not only did the team roll with them but they ended up bouncing notions back and forth, team clicking into place around Zayn easily.

He finds that vanity, contrary to societal clichés, is not a trait specific to the gay scene. There have been a few hateful remarks on how lush and effortless Matt and Zayn's hair is. “You can never spend as much on hair products as Josh and Mike...” Matt says conspiratorially. Zayn eyes Mike's impressive mowhawk in agreement, but soon gets distracted by Josh's indignant squawk at his best friend poking him in the ribs and subsequent tackle of Matt off his chair. While Josh wrestle Matt's face into the push carpet of the break room under the unimpressed gazes of Mike and Ian, Zayn stares and ponders what the alternate version of himself in this world is like.

Later that night, Zayn tells his roommates about his new team, their new project, while watching Louis dance around the sandbag hanging from their ceiling. He's quick, light on his feet, swift jabs and flurry of movements. He gives the illusion he's barely grazing the floor, graceful and happy looking. The only hint that it takes actual effort is the sheen of sweat on his skin, droplets flying off as he shakes his fringe. Harry mutters something, and Louis cracks up, letting out a joyous whoop and jumping into his arms. Harry protests his sweaty state, but immediately holds him close and safe, one arm hooked around his back reflexively, his other hand securing Louis' thigh against his waist. Zayn watches Louis thrust a fist high above his head and let out an exuberant cry and ponders whether introducing Josh Ramsay and Louis Tomlinson would be the greatest idea every, or the one thing that triggers the apocalypse.

 

xXx

 

It's roughly two weeks later, on a drowsy Saturday morning, that Zayn's life goes from _I can't believe this happened_ to _Okay. Now, I know I'm dreaming_.

Zayn chases the last of the yolk around his plate with the remainders of his bagel. “First of all, I haven't gotten anything else than colored pencils out in weeks, Louis,” he defends. “And I don't know how paint could have gotten onto _your_ tank, mate.”

Louis pouts down at the light pink stain on the front of the shirt he's worn to bed, which does, admittedly, look like watercolors. “Well, I dunno then. Do have a ghost? Did we feed the brownies this month?”

Harry snorts. “Sure. Let's go with that. Brownies.”

Louis turns to him. “Oh, we should bake brownies today.”

“For the Brownies, or for you?”

Zayn hops off his stool and goes to refill the kettle, taking in his friends' nods for more tea as well. It's a typical morning. Something weird happens, if you can't blame Zayn, blame the supernatural. Why didn't he think of that when he was a kid and accidentally ruined Doniya's shoes during the whole Spray Can Incident of 2004?

“Got it,” Louis announces when the doorbell chimes, getting off his own seat with a playful slap at Harry's bum. Harry squeaks. Zayn groans. Louis laughs all the way to the door.

Then he swings it open and proceeds to do his best impression of a fish out of water. He gapes. And gapes. And forms soundless babbles. On the other side of the threashold, Liam Payne shuffles on his feet. “Uh... is... I came here to see Zayn? I didn't get the wrong door, did I?”

Said person, having come to investigate the lack of feedback as to who dared interrupting breakfast, hurries closer at the sound of his name. “... Liam?”

“Holy crap,” Louis breathes as the scene comes into view. He turns to Zayn, wide eyed, his knuckles on the door are turning white. “Zee, Liam Payne's at the door.”

Zayn gives Payne a wobbly smile, trying to look apologetic while he's trying not to crack up at Louis' reaction. “I saw that.”

“He knows your name.” Louis' voice is toneless.

“Yes. He does.” Zayn nods sagely. He sees Liam's lips quirk up more.

“You weren't pulling my leg.”

Zayn puts a hand on Louis' shoulder. “Nope. We weren't. Lou, mate, can you maybe let the rock star in?”

“Uh...”

Liam looks contrite. “I don't want to-...”

“Shh...” Zayn directs at Louis, and jerks his head for Liam to come in. Liam closes the door gently behind him as Zayn uses a gentle, yet firm grip on both of Louis' shoulders to march him back to the kitchen. He zombies forward, stunned silent, and Zayn tries really hard not to laugh.

When they arrive, Harry looks up from his cereals. There's a floating moment when his eyes take in Liam standing in the background and drift to Louis' shocked face, then he lets out a triumphant “Ha!”. The victory moment is brief, however. The next instant, Harry bolts upright in his seat. “Oh my god! I'm starkers!” he cries, and runs out of the kitchen, clutching the cheerios box to his groin.

“I'm....” Louis stammers. “I'm gonna... help. Haz.” And in seconds, Zayn finds himself alone in the kitchen with a billionaire once again, a weird echo of a night past.

He turns, nose crinkled in a cringe, but lips painful from containing his glee. Liam seemed more amused than unsettled. Zayn expected as much, from what he's learned from the guy. He's glad he's not wrong. “So... I'm guessing that was Louis?”

“LIAM PAYNE KNOWS MY NAME!!” Louis shouts somewhere down the hall, then there's a loud thud. “ _ow._ ”

Zayn _breaks_. He bursts into delighted laughter. Ever since Liam Payne walked into that diner, Zayn's life has become so wonderfully absurd. “I am so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Liam answers quietly. It's like a whisper, and it makes Zayn look back at him. Payne's gaze is half focused on a spot on the tabletop, wistful.

“No, it's not.” Zayn realizes. Instinctively, he reaches out to graze Liam's elbow, then retracts his touch, unsure if he's being too familiar. “I mean... fuck, you're Liam Payne. Of course Louis' in shock. Even though you're here again, _I'm_ still not sure I didn't hallucinate all of that the other night, to be honest. But... you're also _Liam Payne_. Just a lad.” Liam is staring back at him, Zayn shrugs a shoulder. “And it's gotta suck that this is the reactions you get all the time. That, or... that other night when people were chasing you like game.”

Liam keeps staring at him for a while. “You're really fucking lovely, you know that?”

 _Holy crap_. From the way he blurted it out, it's pretty clear Liam didn't mean to say that out loud. Zayn knows he's probably blushing really hard and shit, shit... no. This can't get awkward. Not now.

“Um...” Liam flounders, Zayn rakes his brain for a subject change.

“ _Oh_ , hey...” he turns back to the man, relieved, when a very obvious one presents itself. “So... I doubt you came here to hang out. But, I didn't... I didn't find anything of yours or anything.”

Payne blinks back at him. “Huh?”

“I mean, if you thought you left something here.”

He lights up with comprehension. “Oh! Oh. No, I'm... I came to say thanks. Like, while we were both awake and not harassed and stuff.”

“Oh.” Zayn grins. “Not that I'm not glad to see you again and all, but... you didn't have to. No problem.”

“Okay?”

Okay. What? “... sooo.”

“So...” Liam makes a face, squints one eye at him. “What if I did maybe come here to hang out?”

Wonderfully, _wonderfully_ absurd. “... seriously?”

Payne shifts feet. “I mean. Are you guys busy?”

“Uh... not me.” Oh please, like he's gonna play hard to get with any cool person that wants to hang out... But _Liam_ , he would be _un_ busy in seconds. He waggles his hand towards the bedrooms. “I don't think they are either, I uh...” he blinks at Liam. “... _really?_ ”

“Yes.” Liam repeats, genuine and awkward. He shrugs a shoulder and gives Zayn a shy little grin. The one he has in interviews when he talks about how fond he is of his family, about embarrassing himself in front of people he admires. About behind a dork. Zayn wants to keep him forever. “I just... it was weird and completely out there, that night, but... I had a good time. I don't get to meet people randomly like that, anymore. It was... unexpected. And really nice.” His gazes drifts to the three empty breakfast plates. “And you told me so much about you three that I wanted to meet the whole gang, maybe?”

Payne-... Liam is amazing. He's doing the thing. That one thing Zayn has never been able to do. Grabbing your courage and your dignity and telling someone 'I like you. I want to be your friend. I hope you want to as well.'. Putting yourself out there. Zayn had never had the guts to do that in his life. Never overtly. Definitely never out loud, so openly. So honestly. _Fuck_. 'wonderfully' is right. Liam Payne is a proper wonder.

Liam Payne is also taking Zayn Malik's awed silence as rejection. “I can leave. It's no big-...”

“Fuck, no!” Zayn blurts. He gestures at the kitchen island with unnecessary violence. “What the hell. If you want to slum it with us guys, have at it. We'd love to have you.”

Liam seems unsure, but Zayn tries for a smile that looks natural, and nods encouragingly. As if on cue, they take a simultaneous step towards the breakfast area.

“Um. The cereals have made a run for it, but... toat?” Zayn offers.

Liam snickers at the memory of Harry's antics, and seems to relax. “I'm good, thanks. But... tea?” Where the hell are the guys, anyway? Are they intentionally staying clear?

“Can do that,” Zayn assures him, and grabs the kettle as he yells for his roommates. “Guys! Making tea. You want a cuppa?”

Harry takes no time calling back with an affirmative. Zayn fills the kettle completely and puts it back on. “Hey, wait a minute. How _did_ you get in?”

He watches from afar, marveling at how familiar the scene should definitely _not_ be, as Liam shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of the couch. “...conveniently showed up as someone walked out,” he admits, returning to Zayn's side. “If not, I had plans to ring every door until someone buzzed me in.”

“Cunning.”

Socked feet make soft sounds. He kicked off his shoes. Zayn wants to hug him again. Damn. “I try.”

Just as Liam insists that the tea already out is perfectly fine and that no, he doesn't need to check all the other ones that they own because he'll have what they're having, – _Zaaayn_ , come _on_ , – Louis stomps in, grumbling under his breath. “I'll make it myself because you always do it wrong and I hate when you fuck up my tea,” he says, which is pure libel, and clearly aimed at his best friend. “You're the best mixologist in town and you put the tea _after_ the water, who does that?” He elbows Zayn out of the way and faces Liam. It takes a couple of nervous eye flickers, but he eventually looks at him head on. “Uh... so. Hi, again. I'm Louis. I'm... very sorry about earlier.” He hooks a lazy arm around Zayn's waist, who's come to stand by his side and doesn't dislodge it because he doesn't hold a grudge. “I somehow was convinced that those two fuckers had been yanking my chain for the past fortnight for some reason. I mean, _“babe, I got up last night to take a piss and Liam Payne was hanging out with Zayner”_ , what are the odds?”

“S'alright.” Liam offers his hand with a bright smile. “Can't say I blame you. Probably wouldn't have believed a word of it my own self.” Zayn blinks. No. Liam did not have a Mal Reynolds type turn of phrase right now. Not everything is about being a giant adorable nerd. But man, he's lovely. “Nice to meet you,” he's telling Louis. “You're... Harry's boyfriend, right?”

“And you're out!” Louis almost yelps, and Zayn groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. This time, he shrugs Louis off. Louis closes his eyes, and shakes Liam's hand, then offers a contrite look. “I mean. Yes. Harold's the apple of my eye, my blue butterfly and everything. Uh... But I meant to... it's really big, what you did. You know? Coming out.” Louis says, serious and soft. Grateful.

Payne looks down, a sad little twitch to his brows. “People keep saying that. People keep thanking me for doing it, because it means so much to so many.”

“Doesn't look like it's making you happy,” Harry remarks gently, from the doorway. Trust Harry to take the rock star in stride. Zayn isn't that surprised. He loves Harry.

“I feel ashamed, really,” Liam says, “and I mean... I did think about the impact it could have on my career, and maybe what I did was courageous. And maybe I thought it could help because while I'm a voice amongst millions... I'm a voice people hear a little more, but... honestly? I did it selfishly.”

Harry comes closer, hand offered. “You wanted to be yourself,” he states, simply. “Hey.” Liam shakes his hand.

“Hi,” his eyes glint in amusement at Harry for a minute, before he lets his hand fall with a sigh and a loaded smile “Fucking tired of hiding, man.” He scrubs over his face, as if to clear the cobwebs of drowsiness. “I mean it's great if it helps some people, if it impacts 'the industry' or whatever. But... I mostly did it for me,” he tells them simply. “So it's weird when people call me brave or something.”

“You _are_ brave,” Zayn can't help saying. “Even if you were just a random dude. It's not no big deal yet.”

“Should be,” Louis says quietly. “But not even close.”

The kettle clicks off. “Right. Tea.” Harry smirks invitingly at Liam. “Have you eaten, mate? Cause I could sure go for a second round.”

Zayn makes a mental note to hug Harry later, for being so... normal and level headed. And then he forgets, because they settle for breakfast (again) and chat like Liam's just a funny lad they just met. Zayn and Liam tell the story of 'that fateful night two weeks ago'. Louis regales them with tales of his and Zayn's antics when they were crazier kids. Zayn takes pleasure in telling the story of how Louis and Harry met.

He'd gotten on fast with Harry at work and kept trying to talk him up to Louis, knowing he was just his type and sensing they'd probably get along great, even as mates. He'd tried to coax Louis into going out with them. But the Tommo had his eye on someone in his art class and wouldn't comply with 'Zayn's stupid and blatant attempt at trying to set him up'. Until one day Harry and Zayn had been hanging at the official Zouis HQ – also known as their shared dorm room – when Louis had walked in. From the priceless look on his face, Zayn had known instantly that the guy Louis had been crushing on from afar was currently destroying him at Mario Kart.

They decide that all of these moments should figure in the next Ryan Gosling movie, which devolves into reimagining Hollywood's greatest romantic comedies with a same sex cast for the lead. They bicker over whether it would be better with men or women, argue over whether The Holiday is a good movie – Jude Law, come _on_ – and end up doing the dishes together while purposefully butchering “(I've Had) The Time Of My Life”. It's a pretty great day.

When Liam leaves for that night's PR event, he's got three new entries in his contacts, and the trio of roommate stand in dumb silence for about a minute before Louis cries out “Holy fucking son of a bitch mother freaking crap!” and they all laugh, because... yeah. That sounds about right.

 

xXx

 

Is this being a working adult? Zayn ponders, while he tilts the design on his ipad. He sips at his coffee pensively and answers Josh's instant message. Is this it, though? Discussing work over breakfast? Before even getting there?

A phone buzzes on the table, but this time it's Harry's. He picks it up, and snorts, which causes him half choke on the toast he was munching on. Louis leans over to get a look, and, as he coughs and clears his throat, Harry indulgently tilts his phone towards him.

“Damn,” Louis mutters. “I'll never get used to that.”

Zayn ducks an eyebrow at them, words not needed.

“Payne,” Louis explains. Succinctly.

“Yeah?” Zayn eyes Harry, trying not to sound too eager, or, like, jealous. Cause he's not. Obviously.

“He's trying to bribe me into giving him the recipe for the green tea cookies.”

Zayn snorts and can't help the fond smile that crooks one side of his mouth. He really wishes Liam will stick around long enough to their officially dubbed Zourry Christmas Oatmeal cookies. Because he'd like to get his reaction to _those_. Also, that way, there is no way Liam wouldn't show up again for more.

 

xXx

 

The first time Zayn gets a text from Liam, the rockstar has hopped over the Atlantic Ocean for a couple of days of promotion, but like... there's no way for Zayn to know that or anything. He hasn't been keeping track at all. Nah.

The message is a picture of a WWE ring, with the final victor being declared Champion, arm raised in the air by the referee. Liam's accompanying caption reads _'One ring to rule them all.'_ and Zayn is powerless to resist a chuckle.

“You did not just...” he mutters, hitting the space to start typing a reply. _'... you DID. You dork.'_ he sends back. Then _'I'm not even surprised.'_

 _':D'_ is what he gets back. Moments later, Zayn's phone buzzes again. _'Niall says that having found people who indulge and encourage my nerdiness is the first sign of the apocalypse.'_

 _'Bring it. I've watched all the tv shows. I'm ready.'_ It only occurs to him that he could have said 'we' once he's hit send.

_'What a hero. ;)'_

Hours later, Liam messages him again. If Zayn trusts his mental maths, it's getting pretty late over there. _'This is not weird, is it?'_

_'What? You texting me the end of convos you're having in your own head?'_

_'That.'_ Liam sends. _'And the... me texting you period. Part.'_

Zayn ponders. Yeah. It's odd and so very unfathomable, but... who cares? _'I think it's weird. If we decide it is.'_ He's quite proud of this reply. It's a yes and a no. Ha.

_'Can it not be?'_

Zayn chews his lip and tries not to read too much into it. Okay, so. Seems like Liam wants to do this thing. Be texting buddies. Why not? When's the last time Zayn made a friend outside of work? Harry. That's when. How depressing. _'Done.'_

 _':D ^^ :))'_ Liam replies. O...kay, then. _'I might be slightly drunk.'_ Comes next. Might. Zayn grins. Then, _'Intoxicated.'_ Then, again _, 'I spelled that right because my phone is sober.'_

That's definitely a giggle that Zayn is trying to keep quiet in his throat, and he's only a bit self conscious about it. Liam is ridiculous and adorable. He also seems like the type to smooth statements as hypothetical. Like, I _might_ be a huge Batman fanboy. _'... still hanging with Niall Horan?'_

_'... & Co.'_

Zayn wonders whether the pics will make headlines, or just tumblr fanblogs and tabloids. He swears to himself that he won't go look, because now Liam is coming close to being a friend and it seems even more creepy. And sad. So he doesn't.

Instead, he digs out Liam's first album and plays it on his computer, and stares at the cover for the whole first song.

He's being Harry's little helper, pealing and dicing vegetables, when Liam's last message comes in. It's a picture of Niall Horan, half falling on someone's lap, body bowed back with his legendary cackles, and captioned with a string of shamrocks.

 

xXx

 

It lasts for a while. Liam sends random texts to all three of them. It seems he's taken in their personalities quite well, too, because what he says or shows is different with each of them. And after a few times, they don't stare in awe when it happens. They don't blink at their phones in wonder for a minute. It's just a funny text or a whine about jetlag from that dude that hung out for a Saturday, that one time. Zayn doesn't know about the others, but he sometimes texts first. He's stopped over thinking it. He's stopped hoping he's not going to wake Liam up because he might be in a different time zone or catching up on sleep. Or in an interview. He trusts the lad to have his phone on silent or plane mode. He trusts that his texts are welcome. He always gets a reply, even if it's just a random comment about how the surfer emoji looks like he's walking on his board and that's going to get him killed, or how much he hates spoons and that sporks are the spawn of evil.

Maybe that's all it is. All it will ever be. Maybe it'll stop just as it started. Fade out.

Yet, mid October finds Zayn curled up on one side of the couch, sipping tea while munching on macaroons Liam brought back from Paris, while staring at the man himself, as he entertains them all with silly stories about fan encounters and hotel secrets. The afternoon passes in a blink. They all have a great time and bribe him into staying for diner – so he orders pizzas _and_ thai for everyone and doesn't let them pay a cent. And when, once he's finished his box of noodles, he leans back contentedly, stretches against the couch and groans a 'ahhh, man. It's good to be back.' It should probably strike them as weird, but it doesn't. It really isn't. And _that's_ a bit weird.

 

xXx

 

Zayn ducks his head forward and rounds his upper back, working his shoulders to relieve the tension, then straightens up again. He brings his cup to his mouth and sips at his coffee, eyes bouncing off shapes in the distance. He's in the break room, in front of the glass wall that is the side of G.Tech's building. The skyline is truly breathtaking. He could stand there and look at it all day. Okay. After an hour or two, he'd probably give in to the urge and grab a sketch pad, but still.

Josh walks in behind him, and appears by his side, slipping his phone back into his jeans' pocket. “Hey, man.” They take in the view together for a while. Josh is like that. Same as Louis. You'd never guess, when you encounter them while they're being loud and exuberant and all over the place, that they can be clam and collected. Quiet. Contemplative. “I swear to you, man. It never gets old.”

Zayn likes Josh. Josh is the code guy, but he understands beauty. He likes music and art shows and doodles crazy shapes during conferences, only looking up to ask a very precise, pertinent question that shows just how much attention he's been paying despite his restless hands. Zayn smiles. “I believe you.”

“I like your ink, man,” Josh says next, gesturing his own mug of joe towards the flannel sleeves that Zayn's rolled up above his elbows. “Almost makes me itch to get more.”

Zayn grins at him. “Thanks.” He knocks their elbows together. “If you ever decide on it, lemme know. I know a guy or two. And a bird that does wonder with watercolor ink.”

“Ooh. Sick. Keep that in mind.” Josh brings his cup to his mouth, finds that he has to tilt all the way back to get the last drops and sighs when he's drained the last of the coffee. “Right. That's me, then. Back to work.”

“Be there in a few,” Zayn informs. He ponders grabbing a smoke. Before the internal war between habit and addiction versus health concerns and laziness at the idea of taking an elevator to the roof _just_ for that really starts up, Zayn's phone vibrates. He gives a startled yip and flinches. So, maybe his pants are a little tight, today. He grins as he opens the message from Liam. It's a front facing camera close up of his face, dim and a bit blurry. He looks rumpled and his lower lip is pushed out in a pout that makes him look young. And that has Zayn stomping down on musings about how it might feel under his teeth. The text reads. _'-__- Jet lag. Long car drive. Boredom. Dosed. Woke up when the car went over a bump and my face bounced off the window. Bleh. Miss LDN. Miss u.'_

Zayn looks up and stares out the window, a faint, disbelieving smile on his face. “Yup. This is my life now,” he says to the Autumn sunlight. In reply, it streams through the glass panes and warms his skin.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prompt that I used: "One is famous, one is not. A suggestion - vegan bakery hipster coffeeshop barista Zayn is so over his late-night shift and thank fuck the store closes in 5 minutes - not that he’s watching the clock or anything. Meanwhile, mega ultra famous successful solo artist Liam Payne is escaping rabid fangirls. He’d thought a late-night stroll to clear his head would be quiet and just the thing to do the trick but no, of course he was spotted. Rounding a corner quickly, he ducks into the closest open shop he can find and Zayn is pissed when someone would come in for a venti latte extra shot espresso whatever the fuck five fucking minutes before closing time… until he sees who it is. The rest is up to you. (Scenario not set in stone either, tweak it, change it up, so long as one is famous and one is not.)"  
> I started toying with it, and this happened. I had not planned on it becoming so huge. So, there's more to come. Like. Loads.


End file.
